Didn't we do this before?

When I stepped into work, the boss was poised over a display case attempting to assist the craven mass of protoplasm I like to call, "Manny the mumbler." I've even mentioned him previously. My current theory is he's a high functioning moron in the psychological sense. At the very least, it would carry a degree of explanation as to why the guy couldn't fetch a glass of water if he was waist deep in a stream with a cup superglued to his palm.

In any case, Manny is happily jabbering away at my boss about the playing cards. He wants to see every variety. He wants to open every pack he can get away with. Concurrently, his gums are flapping in a low, slightly distorted stream of consciousness normally reserved for autists and toddlers. For example, he had to mention the manufacturer of a particular deck was Hustler at least three times. Each time as if it just occurred to him. Each time as if it was new and vital information we, as a store, were unaware.

Once Manny's attention wavered from the case, my boss conducted a silent fade-out that would have done justice for a ninja, leaving me to pick up the slack. Bastard. Oh well, it's not like I wouldn't have done the same to him if I could've gotten away with it. Manny is just a horrific energy sponge. Sometimes you just need to juggle them between personnel so no one feels too victimized.

We've recently added a selection of current magazines to our stores offerings and once his attention was off the playing cards, he made a bee line straight to the rack. I had to chide him to not park his carcass and read the unwrapped issues.

Silly me. I touched off a spate of questions as to why some magazines were unwrapped and queries for why someone would tear open a magazine sleeve. Apparently this posed a mystery of profound depth for him for he dwelled on it for some minutes while sorting through the entire bleeding magazine selection searching for every last issue stripped from its plastic.

Once that subject grew stale for him, he moved on to tell me all of his favorite titles. Every. Damned. One. I was far into the realm of feigned attention, smiling blandly, occasionally making minor noises when it seemed he expected a response. Never checked out the titles he listed that we did have either.

Finally he picked up the magazine I had asked him not to read and asked me twice if it was a current issue. Buddy, if you aren't going to heed my answers look at the fucking date printed on the cover.

He grunts, asks if we have any back issues of magazines and I'm officially reliving his previous visits. After answering the same questions he has asked me every other time I have had him come in during my shift regarding the magazine packs, he segued into his trademark "Where’s the soft-core section" routine. Five minutes of various phrasings of that one question met with the repeated and definitive response, "We do not have a soft-core section. We have never had a soft-core section. There are no soft-core movies here."

As always, he left without buying anything amid muttered promises he'd buy some item or another soon.

I think it would be therapeutic to set him on fire and make bets on how long it takes him to "Stop, Drop, and Roll."